Beauty and the Beast then, ultimately has its roots in softening the blow of being forcibly married off to an older, unattractive stranger, written at a time when many young women were facing down that very prospect. Last March, QZ stated that Beauty and the Beast "remains a troubling story about the need for women to submit to their assigned husbands, twisted into a romance to make it seem palatable."

There are also some critics who consider the tale to be a racist allegory. Refinery 29 notes: "It plays on assumed biases about whiteness and femininity in relation to Blackness—specifically, the notion that white women need to be protected from Black men who are uncivilized and violent."

Almost a century later, Victor Hugo brought us The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and the 1831 novel was, by anyone's standards, violent, sexually twisted, and incredibly dark. In his version, Esmerelda shows kindness to Quasimodo and saves his life, and he returns the favor later on, having fallen in love with her. Ultimately though, Esmerelda is put to death for a crime she didn't commit, and while Quasimodo avenges her by killing the man responsible, the two end up sharing a tomb after he (wait for it!) starves to death at her graveside. With all that considered, it is wild that this ever became a children's cartoon.

Not even Disney could brighten this story up. In their version, we see Esmerelda falling in love with Captain Phoebus and even kissing him in front of the smitten hunchback, thereby devastating Quasimodo. The audience feels all of Quasimodo's pain and wonders why that beautiful mean lady had to go and stick him in the friendzone. In Hugo's original book, Esmerelda literally dies for refusing a man's advances. So either way this story goes, Esmerelda cannot win.

1933's King Kong also asked us to feel sympathy for the beast over the unfeeling beauty. The giant ape is offered Ann Darrow as a sacrifice by natives (make no mistake, King Kong's racism doesn't stop at the subliminal level as Beauty and the Beast's does), but he chooses to keep her instead, enamored by her beauty. The animal then pursues her through New York and, when he is finally shot down by planes, it is Darrow's indifference to Kong's suffering that finally makes the audience sympathize with him. As with Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, an oblivious, beautiful woman ends up causing the most pain to the poor, helpless man-beast.

The climax of 1933's King Kong hammers the point home. "It wasn’t the airplanes that got him," notes character Carl Denham. "It was beauty killed the beast.”

2005's King Kong presented Darrow in a more sympathetic light. Slate notes of her relationship with the ape: "She's been handled roughly in the past, and something about Kong's protection of her makes her feel that, at last, she's met a guy who can commit. King Kong is a film that implicitly suggests that traditional manliness (strength and courage) is the essential fabric of romance and that women value protection above all."

The Phantom of the Opera has even more to do with romanticized stalking than King Kong does. In it, the Phantom —a murderer, kidnapper, arsonist, and general sex pest—manipulates, harasses, and abuses Christine, and we are supposed to be able to justify it because he's lonely, scarred, isolated, and (clincher!) he taught her how to sing. In the end, we're supposed to feel sympathy for him because he decides to not force Christine into a relationship. As a feminist Phantom fan at Ravishly writes: "Is Phantom an MRA? A 'nice guy?' A friendzone cry baby? Honestly, yeah. He is."

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